


Suspire

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel!Q, Angels, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Fallen Angels, M/M, Pining, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Soulmates, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: Where Bond was concerned, he was irrevocably and wholly tainted.
Relationships: James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q
Comments: 19
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "James Bond" or any of the 007 characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I wanted to do a little OOQ wing fic and got carried away. Inspired by the following prompt: "Humans can not fix the problem because humans are the problem."
> 
> Warnings: angel!Q, mild language, canon appropriate violence, drama, angst, romance, pining, wing fic, religious themes and references, angels and demons.

"I want to know where they're taking him. Now!"

The footage of Bond being dragged across an underground parking lot somewhere in Khartoum, limp and bleeding, played on a loop in the deepest reaches of MI6. Muting the room with worried horror as M breathed down Tanner's back. Trying to anticipate where they were taking him.

"Humans can not fix the problem because humans _are_ the problem," he murmured raggedly, breathing hard as the condensed emotion of the room threatened to take him down with the conflicting high of a successful mission. All those hormones, pheromones and chemical receptors all mushed together. Everything humanity considered itself evolved from, but in truth couldn't be more chained to.

It was a tired mantra. And his first memory. A lesson that gave him comfort as much as it had turned into something to rail against. Hissing bitterly at an empty sky, now devoid of any guiding presence. Angry that such wise words now encouraged darkness and vice for all.

And yet, there were those who still fought. Those who believed all was not lost. Those who'd abandoned their grace to fall and fight on mortal shores.

Like many of his brothers and sisters, he'd plummeted to Earth for the final stand.

A strange mimicry of the Holy Son's sacrifice made new in angelic flesh.

And so, they waited and fought. Cultivating light where they could as humanity carried on. Oblivious that the battle for their souls had never been more real.

_Because God was dead._

That was the reality they were left with.

God was dead, and darkness approached their father's favorite creation. Seeking to corrupt mankind from the inside, just as it always had. But now with more power than anyone had seen since the beginning. Long before he'd been born to serve the divine host.

"Humans can not fix the problem because humans are the problem," he repeated, fainter this time and far more ruined. Bracing himself against the desk as his shoulders itched. Wings aching to be free. Fingers draining color until they glowed bloodless-white. Until the pre-fab pulp of the desk whinged a warning and he jumped back. Startled and embarrassed. But no one spared him a glance. Too engrossed with finding Bond and getting the rest of the extraction team safely away with the Ambassador and his family.

He shook himself, hunching his shoulders like a bird of prey before letting them drop again. Pushing back the phantom itch as he looked around the room carefully. Making sure he wasn't noticed as he melted into the backdrop. Exiting seamlessly through the sliding panel hardly anyone knew of and even less used. Needing to get away.

It had been a long time since he'd lost control.

And even longer since-

He set his glasses to the side as he hurried into his private office and locked the door behind him. Nose twitching at the light skiff of dust. A reminder that the space was rarely used as he tended to favor the labs. He turned on the computer as he combed a hand through his hair. Restless and pacing as the systems booted up. He checked the cameras in the labs. Watching as R and E typed feverishly at their stations. Re-positioning the satellites to find Bond's tracer.

They wouldn't find it. Just like they wouldn't find the last part of the recording. Where the leader had looked up at the CTV camera with blood red eyes. Showing his real face for a fraction of an instant before the camera hissed to static.

To an angel, all demons looked much the same.

And now Bond was going to die at their hands.

Just another causality in a war humanity didn't understand.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. And for a smattering of moment, entertained the idea of leaving the matter there. Wondering what would happen if he aided things through purely human means. He could go back to the Command Center and do his best to find Bond. To get another extraction team to his location. To skirt the line he'd been walking since before 007's ancestors had made little more than a footprint on this planet. Strictly speaking, that was what he was supposed to do. To leave mankind to its own.

But he wouldn't.

_Obviously._

Where Bond was concerned, he was irrevocably and wholly tainted.

Normally, he could trust the man to take care of himself.

But this was no normal kidnapping.

Against a demon, Bond would be little match.

No matter what he might claim.

His interference was essential if Bond was to survive.

There was no other option.

He grabbed his tablet and typed a quick message. Covering his tracks in case he was missed. Informing M and R he was looking into a new lead and would be in touch if he found anything. Ideally, he'd be in and out before they noticed he was gone. Before Bond knew there had been any outside interference and he could quietly gloat to himself when 007 trotted home like the entire thing had been under control from the start.

He huffed a strained laugh at the thought. Quickly grabbing the holstered Glock he kept under his desk before shrugging his shoulders and bowing his head.

It had been a long time since he'd done this.

He exhaled, preparing himself. Hands loose at his sides, palms supplicant and bare.

How long, he couldn't remember. Centuries at least.

His eyes eased closed, calling on the Heavenly Chords.

Trust Bond to be the reason why.

His lips twitched upwards in a thin, phantom smile as the air charged electric, prickling his skin like a welcome.

Then - between a fraction of a blink - he hushed out of sight with the wafting curl of burnt ozone, chamomile and feather-dust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is told in Bond's point of view.

The pail of freezing water hit him like a slap. Snapping his eyes open as the humid-dark of an unfinished room took shape around him.

But it hadn't woke him.

He'd been awake for close to two hours.

 _Listening._ _  
_  
Trying to loosen the restraints they had him in.

He still put on a show though. Making a production of spluttering and gasping as stale water rolled down his chin. Shaking his head, as if to clear it, as cruel laughter rebounded off the crumbling concrete and exposed rebar.

There were five of them.

He'd heard them talking.

Four distinct voices.

The fifth hadn't spoken a word.

He'd already pegged him as the leader.

That arsehole was noticeable by the way his expensive leather shoes creaked. That and the smell. A sickly undercurrent of burned flesh and old blood. It was a stomach-churning combination he was admittedly familiar with, but not to this extent. It was like the bastard had taken a bath in the stuff.

What he didn't get was why they'd grabbed him.

The mission had been over.

The Ambassador and his family were safe, bundled in with the extraction team.

Then this mess happened.

And he had no sodding clue if it was related.

So far, all he knew was they were waiting for something.

"Awake are we?" one of them taunted. Blond and balding with a missing front tooth and a sour looking wife-beater. The same one who'd rattled off the latest cricket scores from his mobile an hour earlier. Whining about the shit reception. "Had enough beauty rest? Hmm?"

He let a loose smirk roll across his face. Getting the desired effect a moment later when a fist connected with his cheek. Snapping his head back. Giving him the opportunity to go limp again, feigning unconsciousness. He wanted to do more recon before he put effort into escaping.

"Great work, dipshit! The boss wanted to talk to him!"

The second voice had an asthmatic wheeze to it. He'd already decided how he was going to kill him. An upper-cut to the throat, then solar plexus. Cracking the windpipe as the bastard choked, then went still. It gave him something to look forward to.

"How'd I know he'd go down like a pile of soggy bread?! Ain't my fault he can't take a-"

The sickly-sweet smell was back. Rolling into the room in a single, affronting wave that made his throat itch.

"Wake him."

The voice was disembodied. Rough. Smooth. And completely inhuman in a way he'd never be able to explain. Even if someone was holding a gun to his head. _Especially_ if they were, because he was contrary like that.

Either way, the second pail of water was just as unpleasant as the first. Followed by a hand that wrenched his chin up, forcing him level with the owner of the smell as something in his gut clenched tight. Alarm bells going off like klaxons in his hind brain. Every instinct screaming that he'd never been in more danger than he was now.

But before he could say or do anything, the man - because it was a man - was suddenly inches from him. Leaning in with an animal hiss and slitted eyes. Inhaling deeply before stopping mid-pull, pupils impossibly fat.

"I can smell him on you," the man rasped. Face a mess of sharp, conflicting features. Too predatory to be handsome, but too prominent to be forgettable. "You're _dripping_ with him."

He blinked, trying to clear his vision when it appeared as though the man had blinked with a second set of lids. Eyes red. Then black. Then normal again.

Water must have gotten into his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he spat, realizing he was missing something incredibly important as the man leaned close again. Scenting the air like some kind of animal as the others shifted uncertainly behind him. Body language awkward and stiff with fear. Like they had no idea what was going on, but had learned the hard way not to ask questions.

"So hypocritical...and they say _we_ interfere. He's practically marked you," the boss continued, acting like he hadn't spoken as his hand shot out behind him. Lips twitching, annoyed, until his gun - the custom model Q had given him before he left - was slapped into his hand. "I thought I smelled the stench of light on you. I never thought one of them would let themselves become so tainted. He gave this to you, didn't he? Spent hours on it, if the stench of grace is anything to go by. ... _Disgusting_."

This time he didn't have water in his eyes when the man's eyes flashed red. Spine stiffening as he watched it happen. Only looking away when pain blossomed down his chin. Eyes fixed on the animal curl as the man's fingers moved away from his face to caress the gun. Jaw working a claw-like nails scratched long, dirty furrows down the finish.  
_  
__What the bloody-_

The man grinned with unnaturally sharp teeth. Able to watch his reflection twist in the red pupils before they blinked back to normal and he turned to his cronies.

"Gag him."

He killed and re-killed all of them with his eyes as he struggled against the thick leather strap they shoved between his teeth. Eyes flicking from the leader's retreating back to the gun he'd left on the medical tray beside him. A sickening suspicion trickling in.

_Q?_

_He couldn't have meant Q._

_That was impossible._

Still, something about the phrasing itched at him.

He sank his teeth into the leather bit as he carefully worked against the bindings that tied him to the chair.

 _If they were after Q he had to warn MI6._ __  
  
"He's gonna kill 'ya, understand? He's nuts, mate. Completely off his top," one of them sing-songed, snapping up the gun and pointing it at him with a sloppy flick. Something that would have driven Q mental if he'd been around to see it. "You got mixed up in the wrong job, boyo. Make no bloody mistake."

His left eyebrow flicked, unimpressed as the first voice smirked down at him. Securing the gag behind his head before dealing out a brutal slap that made his ears ring with startled frequencies.

He'd heard as much before.

More times than he could count, actually.

Death often made plans for him.

But he'd made a habit of getting out of them.

He told himself, as he studied the layout of the room, that this time would be no different.

He'd figure it out.

He always did.

Besides, he had a few questions for his Quartermaster.


	3. Chapter 3

The fetid stench of demon-flesh was so strong it knocked him back when he appeared outside the room they were keeping Bond in. He gagged, wings wrenching under his skin. Screaming to be free. The reaction was so visceral his stomach turned. There was no sign of the creature itself, but he felt it's presence. Knowing he only had seconds before the demon sensed him as well.

It had been a long time since he'd been in the presence of one so powerful.

Not without his brothers and sisters.

The demon was old. Ancient. The first ones had a certain musk about them. Misting the air with age-old echoes of cruelty and malice. Back when hell had been new and the screams of the damned could be distinguished from one another. Not caught together in one loud, encompassing howl of torment.

His wings shuddered underneath human muscle, sensing Bond on the other side of the cement wall. His head cocked as he took it in, listening, senses on a knife's edge. He could hear the tension traveling between leather-cuff restraints. Counting the sharp, shuddering breaths as Bond worked the cuffs against each other. Sign enough Bond was conscious and trying to escape.

Of course he was.

He would have expected nothing less.

In fact, he would have been disappointed if he hadn't.

He twitched in place, breathing in the after-tart of hellfire. Realizing the problem immediately. There was no way to free Bond without showing himself. He'd hoped for a less guarded cell with mechanical constraints he could trip the power to release. Something. _Anything_. But there was nothing. In fact, the entire building had no power at all. Nothing he could use to even distract the guards on the other side of the hall. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

_Damn!_

His fists clenched at his sides. Glock unfamiliar and dangerous as it dug into the curve of his waistband. Steeling himself for the inevitable as his hand closed on the door handle. Testing the give. The lack of a deadbolt. The ease of the springs and mechanism underneath. He closed his eyes. Breathing unevenly.

It was unlocked.

He pressed his hand against the cement wall with a loaded breath. Able to feel the warmth of the man's soul. It was a flawed little thing. Multi-hued and slightly worse for wear. But it was there. Still shining brightly, in spite of everything. If he was being honest, he'd admit it had been one of the things that had drawn him to Bond in the first place. A 00 Agent with a soul that still hummed and sang was a rare thing. A soul that still basked in the light and reached towards his grace with instinctive hope.

It had been fading that day in the gallery.

In danger of going out completely, if he was any judge.

But Bond had been able to rally.

And bit by bit, that tarnished little soul became a little less shredded.

He'd admired him for that, if not for his blatant disregard for MI6 property.

Souls were tricky things. Wild, intangible and not at all recyclable. He'd followed his fair share as they floated off to the ether. Leaving behind its shell with a natural exhale any angel could detect from miles off. Herding them carefully onto the road they all inevitably traveled before they were judged. He still let himself listen sometimes, when he was feeling especially alone. Letting himself get caught up in the near constant symphony of the saved and the damned. Reassuring himself that some of the Almighty's machinations still plodded on.

He closed his eyes, fingers threatening to curl like stubby claws. Fighting the instinct to flare his wings protectively around himself. Shuddering and rocking back on his heels as he contemplated the idea of finally breaking that last barrier. Of letting Bond see him, _all_ _of_ _him_ , as he truly was.

It wasn't something he'd ever thought would happen.

Not past the odd day dream.

But he couldn't deny it didn't have a certain... _appeal_.

Bond's soul had always been loud.

_Screaming._

_Playful._

_Jaded._

_Willful._

_Wounded._

_Tired._

And with good reason.

From the moment he'd met him, Bond had been bowed low by the weight of tending to the fires of life. But he wasn't ready to abandon his hearth. Not yet. Not even when that weight would have certainly crippled anyone else.

Such a rarity of will and strength was worth preserving.

No matter the cost.

_Maybe there was a chance he could snap in and out of the room before Bond noticed?_

_Perhaps he could undo the restraints from behind?_

_Making sure the path was clear so Bond could escape into the city?_

It sounded almost possible, in theory.

The key word being 'almost.'

He exhaled, wondering when he'd started thinking in calculations and complex chemical structures that only ever led back to Bond. Avenues and lane-ways that focused on him, and only him. It wasn't just a human thing to love, after all. He'd just never expected to fall in love with a man who had chaos instead of oxygen in his bones.

Love was complicated.

And he was sure he didn't understand the half of it.

But here he was, ever the fool for the chance to grasp it for his own.

_Had God intended for this?_

_Or had not even the creator known such a thing was possible?_

There was no way to know for certain.

No guidance he could seek.

No-

The scent of hell-char made him tremble. Wondering if it was just his imagination, or if the foul stink was getting stronger? Closer? Either way, he couldn't afford to delay. He only had one chance at this. One chance to free Bond and get out of this mess without entanglements.

He closed his eyes, momentarily steeling himself.

He'd pray, but the ugly truth was, there was no one left to listen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Bond's point of view.

The sound of fluttering wings - like a startled dove - filled the air behind him. Bringing his head up as the silence steadied him. One beat. Then two. Three. Four. Nothing. He breathed through it as caution rang the usual alarms. Completely overshadowed by the feeling that sent a name out prematurely. So sure it didn't seem impossible until it was out in the open.

"Q?" he whispered, mangled through the gag.

He wasn't sure what made him say it. He couldn't have known it was him. Just like he didn't know why Q was suddenly all he could taste and breathe. But it came out in a whisper regardless. Echoing for longer than it should have before a fractured inhale joined it. Pinched. Soft. And mildly annoyed. He smiled into the soaked leather. He didn't have to look in the dingy mirrors that ran the length of the room to know who would be standing there. Somehow, he just knew.

"...Q."

The syllable couldn't have been recognizable. But like a pattern of impossible things, there was a stuttered, flayed-open sigh that answered all the same.

_How?_

_How?_

_How?_

Familiar hands tangled with the ties of the gag. Competent and quick with callouses he'd know anywhere. Even if it was just from the occasional brush when Q passed over a new piece of tech or a gun he'd personalized just for him.

He'd never seen rough callouses on such soft hands. At first it had irritated him. It hadn't fit with his initial assumptions when it'd come to the boy who'd sat primly beside him in the Museum. Confident and seemingly having all the answers while his life had been messily falling apart. It wasn't until later that he realized it wasn't that simple. Because Q's hands weren't just soft, they were criss-crossed with scars and burn-mark splotches. Evidence of hours bent over bits of tech, wielding sharp metal and a soldiering iron.

They were a metaphor for Q himself.

That he was more than he appeared.

And that had never seemed more true than right now.

Because Q was here, quiet and careful behind him. Half a world away from where he _should_ be - with time zones that didn't match up. Because it was Q and not someone else. Not another 00 Agent, not Moneypenny or Tanner. It was Q who'd appeared behind him when he'd been looking at the only door for hours. Q who-

Something the leader said came rippling back.

_No!_

The gag fluttered off.

"Trap...Q, it's a trap," he rasped, voice hoarse as the air around the door warped like heat waves on a hot day. A hallmark to direct action as the door swung open and the bastard himself appeared in the door way. Grin impossibly wide. Showing off a mouthful of too sharp teeth and-

Q stiffened behind him.  
_  
Like he was afraid._

That was what worried him the most.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Trap...Q, it's a trap."_

* * *

The moment he appeared behind Bond, he knew he'd run out of time. Worse, on the right side of the room there was a pitted mirror that spanned the entire wall. Highlighting more than his most glaring sins as Bond stilled – sensing his presence. Dress shirt sweat-slick and stained with the crusts of old blood as he slowly uncurled.

There was no way Bond wouldn't see him.

The moment he raised his head, it would all be over.

But he didn't have time to contemplate any of that.

He'd barely gotten the gag off before the demon appeared in the doorway. Stinking of sulfur and cloaked in hell-flumes. Warping the air as every muscle in him pulled tight.

"What a bold little thing you are," the creature murmured. The treads of his boots leaving the imprint of hell-pitch as he approached. It shouldn't have been visible at all. But he could see it. _Bond could see it._ His jaw worked as the ashy tar reluctantly disappeared. As if Hell had grown so powerful the concrete couldn't take more poison. "Still breaking your father's rules, I see. We have that in common."

His wings arched under his skin. Disgust visceral. Grounded only by the keen of a soul he knew better than the chords of the universe as Bond's scent rose in the close space. Giving him strength to rally. So, instead of retorting, he angled his body to cover the action as he slipped the gun he'd brought into Bond's bound hands.

One thing at a time.

"How many of you are left? Hmm? The last vanguard of an abandoned post. Judging by the state of things there can't be many," the demon snarled bitingly. "We won. You lost. Your kind is just prolonging the inevitable. Why not leave them to their fate? They are flawed...easily corrupted. So many forsake his name by choice. Not even their father's fathers were so bold. At least they believed in something - their pantheons of lesser gods."

He caught Bond's reflection in the mirror. But he couldn't identify the expression on his face.

"God welcomed atheists," he pointed out. Remembering the lattice of confused wonder and hesitant supplication in the welcomings he'd witnessed. The angry questions. The silence. The lilting hope. "They didn't believe without question. They questioned not to disprove, but to understand. Faith takes many forms. Blind faith is still blind. …It was never a sin to question."

He needed to buy time.

Enough time to find a way out of this.

Enough time for Bond to-

The demon laughed, dark and churlish. Clicking the door shut behind him as he stepped boldly into the room. Daring him to lash out and tip his hand early.

"Love was all he asked. Love for all mankind. Love for all his creations," he continued, stalling. Looking for an opening. For something. _Anything._

He needed to get Bond away from here.

"Love is a glue trap for lesser beings," the demon sneered. "After all, the dark prince loved. How could God punish his favorite child for acting out of love? Something he prizes above all?"

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

 _Blasphemy_.

"Lucifer fell for himself," he snapped, keeping his attention on the way the demon had managed to inch forward. "He fell out of jealousy. Not love."

"His father brought home a new puppy," the demon taunted. Lips blackening as the creature started to be affected by his grace. "Can you blame him for wanting to toss it in the river?"

The light always reveals the darkness.

Tiny tremors rumbled from the cracking concrete under his feet, too shallow for a human to feel, but not for an Angel.

Or a demon.

And as if in response, the creature bared it's teeth, eyes piercing as it's gaze shifted to Bond.

"You weren't there in the beginning. You stink of youth. I can smell it. The older ones are more jaded. They know the truth. …I was there. I too once called him father. I fell. _I fell with him._ I chose it. Because Lucifer was right. I watched the dark prince shed tears like blood for decades... all because he dared not to love the new, unworthy child!" the demon roared, pointing a clawed finger at Bond, spittle flying. Dappling the ground and hissing angry steam on contact.

_Traitor!_

His wings bristled under his skin as he stepped forward. Keeping Bond safe behind him. Protected. Their roles reversed as Bond shifted - hackles up. Every human muscle singing with tension. Lethal and beautiful, but ultimately ill-equipped to face what was in front of them.

"I'll admit, I was surprised to find your scent on him. It's been a long time since I've sent a child of light to the ether," the demon sneered, pointing a finger at him. "What is your claim on him? Hmmm? What would your superiors think? Fraternizing like this? …Oh, this really is _too_ good."

Bond shifted behind him again. Body language furious. Analyzing. Confused. Focused.

"Is that why you took him? Because of me?" he forced, cut-throat curious.

The demon tilted his head. Mocking him.

"Maybe. Or perhaps it was because he messed up some plans of mine. Figured I'd let off some steam and get some information – find out who he was working for. But then I got a whiff of him and here we are. He reeks of heaven. … _You marked him._ I knew you'd come looking."

Privately, he was relieved. This meant the kidnapping was merely by chance. An opportunity the demon had exploited and nothing more. It had started with the Ambassador and his family. The demon had something to do with it that- not this. It wasn't because Bond was-

"And here you are...all feisty and clean. Marking humans like a feral. _Disgusting_."

He closed his eyes, head bowed for a quick moment before looking up with eyes that glowed so blindingly blue, Bond flinched away.

Even fallen grace was a powerful thing.

He hadn't let his free since he'd chosen to stand with his father's favored.

There hadn't been the need…until now.

"The human is under my protection. You will let us pass," he commanded, in the old tongue. A language not heard on earth for centuries. Causing the demon to clutch his ears and hiss. Façade dropping to reveal his true face. Warped, twisted and inhuman.

The light would always reveal the dark.

Just as the dark could then swallow it.

Both sides equal.

Forever unable to triumph over the other.

"Or what?" the demon hissed, voice building into a roar that made his nails dig into the meat of his palms. "You're barely a nestling. I crawled out of the great pits long before you were sparked by his hand. The human is _mine_ , as are you. I'm going to enjoy peeling the skin from his bones and snapping your flights to dust!"

He closed his eyes, watching Bond watch him. Reflecting in the mirror the same way light reflected all manner of sins. Lies. Particularly lies of omission. An offense of which he was far too guilty.

But this time, the path was already chosen for him.

There was no other way.

He allowed himself the brief whimsical hope that Bond would understand before he exhaled and _shifted_.

A sheath of divine light lit up the room. A hallmark to the moment his wings burst from his back. Shredding his clothes as the fabric fell slack. Wings hunching up like a bird about to take flight. Predatory and ready as the demon jerked back, eyes darting from him, to his wings, to Bond, then back again. The demon bared his blackened teeth when his spear, forged in the holy fires of heaven itself, appeared in his hand. Expanding into a thin golden lance he hadn't needed to bring forth in over a millennium.

He would fight.

For love.

For-

"The war will only be over when the last of creation draws its final breath. God didn't forsake humanity, not even when they disappointed him. We will not forsake them either," he said quietly, wings vibrating with static energy. The hell-tainted air oily and foul against his feathers as he allowed them to stretch to their full width.

It had been so long that the pleasure was sharp - like a limb that had fallen asleep.

Unable to resist the need to puff the feathers, straining against the tug of sore muscles and ill-kept flights.

But that only made the demon's smile cruel - taut lips pulling sharp. Eying his plumage with a sickly grin. Aware on some level he was posturing, trying to appear bigger than he was as the ragged sound of Bond's breathing made him want to disappear.

"I'm impressed, youngling."

He didn't rise to the bait, nor the sarcasm. Instead, he held his ground. Tugging the remnants of his shirt and jumper with a sharp motion that fluttered the pieces to the ground. Leaving him naked, pale and painfully exposed.

"If I've exceeded your expectations, you've merely underestimated me," he replied, steadier than he felt as his heart raced in his chest. Grace pulsing under delicate human skin as the demon hissed and darted forward. Grabbing a piece of broken pipe and brandishing it.

Bond actually huffed something dangerously close to a laugh.

If it had been any other situation he would have rolled his eyes.

_Insane prat._

But for some reason it made him feel stronger. Confident that if Bond could see this – _see him_ – and still laugh, everything might turn out alright after all.

The lance in his hand hummed with divine energy. Reminding him of better days. Of the warmth of his brothers and sisters in the roosting halls. The vast training grounds and holy fellowship. Everything he'd pushed away as the centuries flowed past. He let it all come back as he twirled the lance in his hands. Showing the demon he wasn't unused to it's weight. He'd trained for this. Fallen for this. Held out for-

The demon twitched, chin jutting forward as sharp teeth snapped in irritation. About to say something when the _c-c-click_ of Bond's cuffs falling slack echoed in the quiet.

_Ah._

He exhaled, then moved.

His feet were barely on the ground when the demon launched at him. It was a fight that all of creation recognized down to stray molecules. Feeling sharp teeth tearing where his wings met his shoulders before he swung his lance and sent the demon flying. The entire building trembling as good and evil clashed in the flesh for the first time in a millennium.

His last conscious thought was a muted prayer.

A plead for forgiveness from a long dead father.

But mostly for a man - for a son of Adam - to live.


	6. Chapter 6

He didn't understand.

But right now he didn't need too.

Right now he needed to-

The bloody down of pied-bald feathers filtered through the air like a painful rain as Q grappled with the man in the far corner. Fighting for the upper-hand as the dysphoric beat of his cronies slamming on the door echoed loudly. Staccato. Off-rhythm. Rattling the hinges. Threatening to make an even match less so.

His gun wavered, trying to get a clean shot.

_He couldn't._

Q's wings were in the way and-

He bared his teeth in a tight, rictus grin when Q brought his lance down, sending the demon staggering away. Highlighting Q in all his bloody glory. Blue eyes glowing inhumanly bright as the weapon whistled through the air faster than he could see. It was a blur, impossible, like the thrum of a hummingbird's wing. Catching the bastard under the chin and sending him into the door, splintering it as-

The others piled through the debris, yelling - guns drawn.

But there was no where to find cover.

No where to run as he ducked and-

The air whooshed from his lungs when Q launched himself at him. Taking the impact as more than a half dozen guns fired at once. Feeling the reverb like a distant sort of PTSD as Q hissed through his teeth. Quivering. Protecting him. Shielding him like the bullets were nothing.

It had been a long time since anyone had treated him like he deserved protection. That he was worth someone's blood and pain. It was usually the other way around. He was either a product of his own success or a fallen soldier. It was assumed he could handle himself or he'd die in the service of Queen and Country. It was a reality he knew all to well. 007s were ticking time bombs at best. Liable to go off at a moment's notice. And, as it happened, they were generally treated as such.

As indispensable, but ultimately- disposable.

_But not to Q._

_Not today.  
_

And hell if that didn't send a shot of warmth through him, in spite of everything.

A pained inhale broke him out of his thoughts.

"Bond... _I can't-_ "

The words were a warning, a plead.

Like something they were afraid to acknowledge.

But he was already ahead of him. Twitching aside a sheath of feathers as he aimed and-

The room was quiet when it was over.

And he knew two things instantly.

First, his clip was empty.

And second, he couldn't see the thing Q had been fighting.

Q twitched his wings, raining spent bullets on the floor. Each one flattened like it'd hit a concrete wall and stopped there. _Christ._ There was no blood. No visible wounds. But somehow, he knew Q was hurt. Whatever had happened, Q had paid a price to keep him safe. It was all there, if you knew where to look.

He was close enough to feel the shift when Q turned, taking in the pile of bodies by the door. He watched in silence - choking unasked questions. And before long, Q's head tilted, eyes flashing as he scented the air. Almost cuffing him across the head when his wings lurched in alarm. And though he wasn't sure why, he found himself doing the same. Coughing when he realized the acrid smell was still there. Permeating the copper-coated humidity with an ungodly stink he could actually _taste_.

The dull vibration of a cell phone caught his attention. He stepped forward. Out of Q's protection. Mind already back in the mission. They'd be able to get intel from it, maybe ping the last few calls. They needed to know if the attack on the Ambassador's family was- But Q stopped him short, hand grazing his stomach. He caught on as he followed Q's gaze and spied a pool of inky-black pitch spreading from under the bodies.

_What the bloody hell was that?_

"Don't touch it," Q rasped, sounding winded. Forgetting to look smug when a moment later the noxious pool began to spit and bubble. Dissolving the closest body like it was some sort of acid. Eating through clothes and skin until there was only bone and wet organs before he looked away.

There were a million questions he could have asked, but he settled on the most immediate. Swallowing bile as the smell of burning flesh threatened to turn his stomach.

It had been a long time since he'd smelled that kind of death.

"Is it dead?"

Q shook his head.

"He'll be back, with others- more than I can fight. We need to leave."

He nodded. Mentally calculating the distance to the closest safe-house. He had an idea where they were in the city. Enough to get them in the right direction. They could make it before dark and have M in the know before tea-time. The only problem was he didn't know the parameters. He didn't know how it was possible for _anything_ to get back up after he'd put a bullet through it's center mass. And not knowing the rules was the kind of shite that got you killed in his line of work.

Still, he didn't ask.

He just accepted it.

Trusting Q would tell him what he needed, when he needed to know it.

"Let's go," he agreed. Looking for a path through the spreading pitch as the fumes made the glare from the florescent lights waver. Covering his nose with his shirt as his vision started to go hazy around the edges.

It was only because they were so close that he was able to act in time. Aware of the slow let-go in Q's muscles as he turned and caught him before he crumpled. Wings an awkward mess as the left one rested on his back - tickling and warm.

That was when he realized the right wing was hanging at an awkward angle.

Broken. Bloody. _Christ._

"Q? Q! Sweetheart- can you put them away? We have to get out here," he gritted, holding him up. Straining to pick up the lance, only to nearly drop it again when a strange, static-shock numbed the muscles in his arm. "If we can get to the street, I can get us to-"

He didn't know how to handle the damning pause when he realized the endearment had slipped free.

It had been honest.

 _Automatic_.

And mercifully, Q didn't call him on it.

Q shook his head, hands fisting around his forearms. Gritting his teeth like every moment was agony. Turning those bright, eldritch eyes on him - so different from his usual dark grey - he didn't know whether to admire or miss them.

"There is no time. Let me..."

He didn't know what that meant, but he nodded anyway. Trusting. Eying the broken door as the shadows beyond started to warp again. Sensing something he didn't understand, but immediately feared as the hall echoed with a distant, unearthly roar. Like a hundred thousand voices were screaming through the ground, straining and pushing before-

He blinked and suddenly they were gone.

* * *

They reappeared in a dusty flat before he could exhale. Stomach lurching as he cased the room. Gun up, despite knowing it was empty.

Appearances were often everything in his line of work.

You just had to have the confidence to pull off the con.

He cleared the flat. Circling back to Q as the man leaned unsteadily against the wall. Breathing hard. He had a moment to look around at the sparse furnishings before Q spoke. Wings rustling as he used the lance to keep himself upright. Staggering beside him as his ears popped uncomfortably. Clicking like they were adjusting to a change in pressure as Q let go of a relieved sound.

 _What the bloody hell had just happened?!_  
  
"It's secure. He can't find us here," Q murmured, wilting against the wall. Making a show of putting some distance between them as the adrenaline that'd been coursing through him went stale. Eyes on the quivering mass of feathers as Q gingerly tested his range of motion. "None of them can. Not even MI-6 knows about this place."

_There are more?_

_How is this connected to the Ambassador?_

_What was that- thing?_

_What are you?_

_Where are we?_

_How?_

_How was any of this possible?_

He swallowed the round of questions grudgingly. Knowing it wasn't the right time. Eying the sole chair in the middle of the kitchen like it was some kind of lonely metaphor. Instead, he turned his attention to the sickly angle of Q's injured wing. He circled around him as Q fussed. Caught on the play of his shoulder blades as Q stretched his good wing, tucking it flat against his back. The speckled feathers stark against his corduroy trousers.

"Is it broken?" he asked carefully, gesturing towards it. Half surprised that speaking it aloud didn't make the entire scene dissolve. Like acknowledging an impossible thing was supposed to bring down the entire mirage. Only that didn't happen.

Which was its own problem, really.

He wasn't as unimaginative as head office liked to believe. He knew what he'd seen. Or at least he knew what it looked like. The words though, they got stuck in his throat.

The corners of Q's lips turned down, looking up at him through long lashes. Wetting his lips nervously as his hands spidered across the window ledge. Vulnerable in a way that sent a conflicting bolt of _something_ all the way down to his belly.

"No...but I- I'm afraid I need your help," Q answered, gesturing behind him. "It's dislocated at the joint. Much like you would a shoulder, if you please. I can't reach it."

He nodded, relieved. But before he moved, he caught Q's expression and decided to negotiate. Not above a bit of dirty pool to get answers. Knowing full well how mulish Q could be on the best of days. And today, he was sure, wasn't one of the good.

"I think you need to tell me what's going on," he suggested firmly, tucking the empty Glock into his waistband.

"Yes, I think that's only fair," Q replied faintly, a thin coating of his usual sarcasm coloring his tone as he moved towards the chair and gracefully collapsed into it. "You've been remarkably calm, considering the circumstances."

The ungentlemanly snort that left him shocked them both.

He shook his head, smile flirting with the corners of his lips. Feeling full in the most enduring way possible as Q looked up. Demanding answers. Curious. Cautious. Hopeful.

"Q, no offense, but as remarkable as you are, I've seen weirder. Do get off your pedestal, will you?"

The smile the words brought forth was surprisingly everything. Lightening the mood as Q shook his head, doing his best to hide his amusement. Good wing puffing up as he chuckled openly.

He didn't let on it was a lie.

He didn't have to.

The fact that it had also been the right thing to say, well- he figured that was just luck. For once.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Suspire: to sigh, to breathe.


End file.
